


Belief

by magenta_sunset



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, the NnoiTes is really slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 06:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12227385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magenta_sunset/pseuds/magenta_sunset
Summary: Tesla Lindocruz is many things.





	Belief

Tesla Lindocruz is many things, but a believer that ghosts exist is not one of them. Firstly, the idea sounds, frankly, a little bit silly. Instead of just going to the afterlife like a normal dead person, why would anyone want to stick around where they died? Especially if it was one of those old, abandoned places. It would be boring.

Secondly and finally, he doesn’t believe in them. _Supernatural phenomena is able to be logically explained by science. Or stupid pranks._ It’s a mantra drilled into him by his mother since childhood, when he ran, breathless, into the living room after hearing a ghostly voice call _“I’m gonna get ya…”_ and nearly made his grandmother faint when she heard him screaming “I HEARD A GHOST!!!”

His grandmother. Right. That’s the only reason why he’s _here_ now. She’d passed on, and mentioned something about wanting Tesla to inherit the rickety old house she’d lived in alone for years before moving to, and dying, in a hospital (she’d collapsed one day, but a visiting neighbour found her. When the same thing struck in the hospital bed, she hadn’t been so lucky).

Now, he’s in her old home. It is pretty comfortable, and he’s checked: the electricity, water and heating all run well, plus he’s made arrangements to get a WiFi router into the place so he can do his college homework. And bring in his PS4.

So why does he feel like there’s something…off?

Maybe it was because when he had gone in and put his stuff down, the door had slammed. _It’s just the wind, though_ , Tesla had told himself, before he started unpacking the various cardboard boxes.

He reminds himself again.

Then he hears _it._

The sound of something moving upstairs. Something scraping. Definitely on the floor, like something’s being dragged along.

_Upstairs is the bedroom, second bathroom and attic._

It doesn’t sound close enough to be the bedroom, and the bathroom is carpeted, so it’s probably the attic. Tesla’s heart is in his mouth as he tiptoes up the stairs, and one hand is in his pocket, already dialling all but the last part of Grimmjow’s number-

He works up enough courage to tell himself _maybe it was just a trick of my ears, time to stop playing Silent Hill_ before he wrenches the door open to see-

 

-nothing.

Nothing but a dark, dusty room smelling like old paper and some kind of spice. Tesla’s foot nudges something and he jerks away before realising its’ actually a doorjamb.

Well. That was a case of false alarm.

He doesn’t see that, in a corner, there’s a mark on the floor about the length of a finger. It’s a little curved, and against the dark chocolate brown of the floorboards, it’s a piercing yellowish-brown. If one is to touch it, the cut can quite clearly be felt – like a knife or some kind of thing had sliced into the waxed boards.

But Tesla didn’t see it, and therefore, did not touch it. Both a pity and a blessing for him.

 

“No way. That’s some serious horror-game shit right there.” Tesla can _hear_ the sceptical-yet-amazed grin in Grimmjow’s voice.

“I’m not kidding.” Tesla stretches out on the couch with an open pack of potato chips next to him. After the scare he’d gotten, he’d gone out until 8pm and only then _reluctantly_ dragged himself back to the house because his data plan reset only tomorrow and he was about to burst it.

“I heard it clear as daylight. Though…I just hope it was some neighbour or whatever…or maybe I only imagined I heard it.” Tesla pops another chip into his mouth.

_Crunch, crunch._

“You want me to come over? Or send someone?” Lots of things can be said about Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, but “would-leave-his-friends-to-die” isn’t one of them. Tesla cracks a small smile.

“Nah. After I get the place spruced up, maybe bring in a professional repairman, I’m sure everything’ll turn out okay.”

“Whatever you say, man. See ya.”

“See ya.” Tesla hangs up and returns to his task of “precariously balance the computer on the couch arm with one hand while eating potato chips with the other”. Now normally, since its’ 10pm, he’d be asleep (not in her bedroom, since the couch is actually a lot more comfortable), but he has to rush to finish this essay before he can sleep.

_Crunch, tap-tap-tap, crunch, tap-tap-tap._

He falls into this routine of sound pretty easily. In fact, he’s not even aware of when the third one joins in.

_Crunch, tap-tap-tap, crack, crunch, tap-tap-tap, crack._

Tesla only realises it when it sounds like it’s _near his fucking ear and holy shit-_

He jerks around, and sees nothing once again.

A cold sensation brushes over his shoulder ( _it’s just a draft, probably-_ )and for a minute he thinks he can spot something – it’s pale, not quite white, but something with flesh tones.

He shrugs and grabs his earphones.

_Boys and girls of every age, wouldn’t you like to see something strange-_

He quickly jerks those out of his ear. Not the time to be thinking about The Nightmare Before Christmas, also known as The Reason Why Five-Year-Old Me Was Scared Of Looking Under My Bed For Three Years. Damn Grimmjow for downloading it onto his music folder.

Glancing at his report, Tesla sees an extra line of text: gibberish, mainly. He must’ve accidentally typed it out when he jerked earlier.

Deciding that he can afford to sleep earlier (he’ll just ask Professor Ukitake for an extension tomorrow), Tesla turns off the lamp and curls up under the blankets.

Strange. The draft’s still getting to him ( _it’s not a ghost, damnit!_ )

 

The next morning, Tesla wakes up to see what is quite possibly the one thing that both restores his belief that _why yes, ghosts **do** exist_ , and also scares the crap out of him.

The words are hard to make out at first, because they’ve been written so many times each one is bleeding into another. But they’re definitely written in red ink that smells almost…like…blood…

Screw what the will said, he’s selling this place. Immediately. It can probably fetch him a few thousand, enough to pay for some of college. As long as he (a) disappears and becomes uncontactable, (b) _conveniently_ forgets to mention the place is probably haunted and (c) exorcises the house, whatever buyer wants it should be willing to pay.

He squints a little more at the bloodred words. He can make out an archaic number 5 in there, and the word _despair_ , maybe a name starting with the letters _N_ and _E_. The name is repeated the most, Tesla notices, oddly calm despite the sheer _what-the-hell_ of this situation. It’s scrawled across the walls like a prayer, or perhaps in anger, a vow of revenge, perhaps?

He also sees the words _KILL_ and _DESTROY_ and _DAMNED_ amidst the mess of words.

Tesla reaches out to touch the liquid before common sense can kick in.

The liquid burns. It singes his finger and he pulls it away, hissing and wincing in pain, bringing the finger to his mouth to suck on it. He only realises there’s some of the liquid on it when it’s already inside.

The liquid tastes…hot. It’s hot and coppery and salty, like some sort of mixture of blood and water and sweat (or tears).

Okay, forget school, he’ll call in sick and drag Szayel in to stay with him over the weekend. And he’ll go see a psychiatrist or doctor tomorrow. He’s probably going crazy. Maybe some weird combination of stress, energy drinks and late nights equals hallucinations.

 

_“Medicine won’t make anything go away.”_

 

“What the-!” Tesla definitely heard _that_. It’s a rough voice, one that carries a sort of impatient undertone to it. He whirls around to see something.

 

It’s a man. Definitely taller than Tesla is – a _lot_ taller. His hair is jet-black and cascades over his shoulders, hiding the left part of his face and reaching a little under his arms. He’s also an anorexic kind of skinny – the kind that most models are these days, to think of it. The man wears some jewellery: bangles, metal, on each of his wrists. He’s wearing some kind of white jacket, his sleeves hiding his arms, and his fingers are long. And pale.

The man is also grinning (his lips are closed, no teeth visible) like a murderous maniac. Which Tesla suspects he is. His head is slightly lowered forwards, his one visible eye looking upwards. Straight at Tesla.

Tesla speaks as if he’s on autopilot.

“Get out of my house.”

 _“Why should I?”_ When the man speaks, his voice doesn’t sound like a regular human being. It echoes, soft, off the walls of the house. In the corner of his mind, Tesla thinks Grimmjow will probably have arrived at their class by now and noticed he’s missing.

_“It’s my house first.”_

“Was. It’s mine now. Grandmother said I could have it.”

_“Really? Did dear precious grandmother tell you about her old archenemy?”_

“What? Who?” Honestly, Tesla can’t imagine his pacifist grandmother having any sort of archenemy.

 _“That’s just like her. Tch. Always trying to hide. Trying to **avoid**.”_ He spits the last word out like it’s poison. _“Pretend everything is alright.”_

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you are trespassing on private property-”

 _“That’s so cute.”_ In a moment the man is in front of him, grinning right in his face, lips drawn back to expose a large smile. _“I’ll remember you. You’re probably no different than she was.”_

“Wait, what?!” Before Tesla can think of anything else to say, the man is gone, leaving Tesla with a phone filled with six missed calls from either Grimmjow, Szayel, or his mother.

The blood-writing is gone from the wall though, so that’s kind of good.

 

 _“Come home right now.”_ His mother demands. Tesla would laugh at the irony of it all, since _she_ was the one pushing him to come to the house, but he won’t. _“We can get someone else to look through your grandma’s house.”_

“Mom, it’s okay! I’ll just sort through all his stuff, and I’ll come home on Sunday. Promise.” Tesla sighs. “Besides, I called Szayel over. He’ll be here in like, five minutes.”  
_“Okay, honey. Call me if you need anything.”_ His mother goes off the line with a _click_ just as the doorbell rings.

His cousin stands outside with a backpack and an overnight bag in his hands, with one of the most colossally neutral expressions on his face. “Hi.”

“About time,” Tesla says, before letting him in. “Now, tell me: did Grandma Nelliel have any enemies? You’re her favourite, you should know.”

Szayel stares at him for a while. “You _don’t_ know? About _him_?”

Tesla furrows his brow, and Szayel takes that for a negative answer. “You don’t know about Nnoitra? I’d have thought your mother would have told you…”

“Tell me.” Tesla grabs him by the shoulders. “Tell me everything.”

Szayel nods.

 

“Okay, so you know Grandma used to be part of some gang, right? The Espada, I believe.” Szayel begins. “So there was this guy. He was like, number five in the hierarchy. They _never_ got along.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How did you come to know about this?”

“Oh. My godfather, Starrk? He used to be the first of them.”

“ _Starrk_ was one?! Give me time to actually reconcile the image of our lazy uncle with a _gang member._ ”

“Well, he was. Anyways, where was I again? Oh right. Nnoitra. He, according to Nelliel, was a ‘misogynistic, bloodthirsty, sack of crap’.” Szayel takes a sip of water.

The lights flicker, and he chokes.

_“That’s the kinda lies the bitch’s been spreading about me?”_

“What…what’s going on?!” Szayel looks around.

“Tesla, you didn’t tell me about this!”

“Yeah, well, I kinda didn’t know he existed until now.”

The man – Nnoitra, Tesla supposes, appears in the room, right next to Szayel, who flinches away, but Tesla can see the scientist in him thinking, _holy shit, this is a great time to collect data_.

 _“She saves my fuckin’ life a couple a’ times, and she thinks she can lord it over me?”_ He snarls. The voice is much more gravelly now, with a street-slang accent in it.

“What the hell are you?” Szayel finally gets the courage to ask.

 _“A ghost, what does it look like, smartass?”_ Nnoitra turns to glare at him.

_“She wasn’t a fuckin’ saint either! Do you know why I’m here?”_

“Starrk said Nnoitra died…in a raid on a rival gang house.” Szayel speaks up, voice barely trembling. Tesla has to give it to him.

 _“Well, I sure as hell didn’t!”_ Nnoitra fixes his visible violet eye on Tesla. Without warning, he rips away the curtain of hair blanketing the other half of his face, and raises the eyepatch beneath. Tesla flinches backwards, too horrified to say a word.

Szayel bolts for the door as things inside the house begin to levitate and crash down as Nnoitra stares, eyes furious. He twists with the lock and leaves, leaving Tesla alone inside the house with a _most definitely murderous ghost._

If Tesla lives to see the next morning, he’s going to let Szayel have it.

Where a left eye would be, there is a mangled mess of scar tissue there.

 _“She lured them here!”_ Nnoitra continues hatefully. _“She let them do_ that _to me!”_

“What happened to you?” Tesla finally gets the courage to ask. “What caused that…that wound?”

Nnoitra looks at him, letting hair fall back over the scar. The scowl and glare fade.

Suddenly, he’s a lot more solid, and he’s sitting across the couch from Tesla. His voice is much more human now, less echo-y, if Tesla had to say.

“It was ’83.” He finally says. “Yes, Nelliel was right. We _were_ in a raid. But things went south: numbers seven, nine and ten all died. So we ran. Me and Nel, we ended up here, and we hid. I still had Santa Teresa – my weapon – with me, and she had Gamuza – her knife.”

“Santa Teresa?”

“Here.” He holds a hand out. White light collects in it, white light with golden borders, and Tesla sees a strange sort of reversed-crescent scythe appear in it. It’s connected to Nnoitra by a circular chain.

“So…we hid.” Nnoitra continues, flipping Santa Teresa around in his hand and resting his arm on it. It cuts into the floorboards, leaving behind a light brown slice. Tesla tries not to dwell on how a weapon like that looks so heavy, and yet is easily lifted by Nnoitra – imagine the _strength_ needed, he’ll easily be able to bifurcate Tesla, probably – and focuses on the story Nnoitra’s pouring out to him.

“The gang’s enforcer – Zaraki, something like that, I think – he came in and started knocking around. Trying to flush us out. We hid and tried not to make a sound, ‘cause he could easily kill us, easy as swatting a fly, probably. Until suddenly, Nelliel just make a loud sound. A rat crawled on her, probably, the pussy.”

“Zaraki heard. Came running up the stairs, burst into the room. I’d been frozen – and then I realised, with this _brute_ of a man bearing down on me, that Nelliel was gone. She hid under the beds, maybe. Zaraki thought it was me – he’s not a smart guy. So he killed me.” Nnoitra taps the eyepatch. “Right here. Shanked me through the eye, and left me bleeding out. Don’t know why that didn’t kill me immediately. And as I lay dying, _your bitch of a grandmother_ …she came out from somewhere behind me and just looked down at me. Then she left.”

Nnoitra stares coldly at Tesla, suddenly raising Santa Teresa in his hands. “And…here I haunt. She bought the house. I tormented her day and night, and I refused to leave, even when she tried hiring mediums or psychics. I vanished for a few nights at a time and then came back. I wanted her to remember: _she’d caused this_.”

Nnoitra brandishes his weapon, steel edge at Tesla’s neck, and Tesla can feel the cold metal biting into his skin. He’s sure blood is welling up somewhere.

“Now…” He grits his teeth. “I’m gonna kill all of her descendants.”

“Okay. But before I die…I just want to know…did you really hate her?”

“Huh?” That statement stops Nnoitra in his tracks, as he tries to slit Tesla’s throat.

“You’re not a bad person. I don’t think so.” Tesla puts a hand out to rest on Santa Teresa. “You’re a violent guy, maybe. But nothing you said has ever seemed to be really, truly _evil._ ”

Nnoitra looks at him for another long moment. For a while it’s just the two of them; the ghost and the human, quiet, the only sound that can be heard the whistling wind outside.

Without any words, Nnoitra suddenly drops Santa Teresa and clenches his fists.

_“I don’t want her stupid pity!”_

Tesla hesitantly reaches out and grabs hold of his hand.

“I know it sucks to be pitied, Nnoitra. But you’re not alone. I know you’re angry and you can’t move on because you’re so full of rage.”  
Playing therapist has never been Tesla’s strong suit, but he’ll try. He’s always been particularly empathetic, his mom says, and he can see: Nnoitra’s not so much _malevolent_ as he is full of hatred and feelings of _inferiority_. A bit of hurt in there, too.

It’s in his voice: once he’d stopped using the echoing one, Tesla could almost see the raw pain in there.

“But you’re only hurting yourself more by staying here.” Nnoitra doesn’t try to shrug off his hand, so Tesla supposes he’s making progress. “You didn’t really hate women – it was just Grand-Nelliel, I mean.”

 _“She pitied me._ ” Nnoitra hissed. His hair began to levitate in a force that made Tesla feel crushed, but still he kept on going, even though he felt like his bones were being crushed.

“You need to be at peace, Nnoitra! I know you’re angry she pitied you and that’s because you don’t _need_ to be pitied. Because you just wanted to prove yourself, but she didn’t want to let you. She thought you needed a babysitter. But you don’t. You’re strong enough.”

“I wanted to die.”

Tesla straightens up as the pressure lets up. Nnoitra continues.

“I wanted to die. Everything exists to become nothing in the end. But I wanted to die in battle, wanted to die before I hit the ground.”

He takes a shaky breath (Tesla didn’t know ghosts needed to breathe). “Nelliel rubbed salt in my wounds. I was just…I hated my life. I wanted out, but I wanted to go out taking as many people as I could with me.”

Nnoitra clutches at the couch, ripping it in some places with his inhumane strength, as he forces out through gritted teeth, “ _WHY WOULDN’T SHE JUST KILL ME?! WASN’T I WORTHY?!”_

Tesla doesn’t have anything to say to that.

He lets Nnoitra rant and scream and curse Nelliel’s name to the bottom of hell. Anything that will make him feel better.

Nnoitra yells out a final, incomprehensible, curse, and then collapses into Tesla, breathing heavily.

“I love you,” Tesla finds himself saying as he runs a hand through Nnoitra’s hair – it’s silky and smooth, like running his fingers through some fine material.

“You don’t deserve to keep torturing yourself. Please, just let go. I love you, Nnoitra, and I don’t pity you, even if they do. I never will. I love you, broken-ness and all.”

They stay that way for a long time, just together.

Sleep comes almost without him realising.

 

The next morning, Tesla wakes up with stiff shoulders and a living room that looks like it’s in shambles. His phone has five hundred messages and twenty missed calls. Many of them are from Szayel or Grimmjow.

_SZAYEL – COUSIN: I am so sorry._

_GRIMMJOW – SCHOOL: Dude where the hell are u prof ukitake’s worried he’s gonna call ur mom._

Tesla scrolls past them until he comes to the last one

It’s from an unknown number, sent at 5AM.

_Tesla. Thanks._

Tesla cracks a small smile and falls back onto the mattress, an arm over his eye. His foot brushes the floor, and he feels the cut made by Nnoitra’s Santa Teresa.

 

He still lives in the house. Nothing paranormal really occurs in there anymore.

 

Tesla Lindocruz is many things, and a believer in ghosts is one of them.


End file.
